The thirteenth morning did not feel heavy.
It felt quiet. Not the uncertain silence of confusion, nor the tense stillness before conflict—but something deeper. A calm that came after strain. A moment where everything slowed just enough for thought to return.
Because today—
They were told to decide. The courtyard reflected that change in a way that was subtle but unmistakable. Students still arrived early, still moved through their routines, but there was less urgency in their actions. Not because the challenge had lessened—but because they understood that rushing would not help them anymore.
Some stood still, simply observing their own movements. Others practiced slowly, deliberately, as if testing something new—not their ability, but their intent.
Near the training grounds, the noble group stood in quiet discussion, though their tone was no longer filled with certainty.
"What does it mean to decide?" one asked.
"To act first?" another suggested.
